


It's All Fire and Brimstone, Baby

by KaliTracer



Series: The Mission [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping attempts, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Work place violence, briefly, cliffhanger ending, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliTracer/pseuds/KaliTracer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an unknown group come after Q, with every resource they have, James Bond will find that this mission, more than any other, has the potential to destroy his entire being and burn his entire world to ashes. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title of series and fic comes from "The Mission (M is for Milla Mix)" by Puscifer. 
> 
> First fic in this fandom so be gentle. Unbeta'd as of this moment.

It isn’t really surprising that when the whole thing starts, James Bond is the first to be launched neck deep in the situation. A coincidence, maybe, but not surprising in the least. 

The call had gone out for Bond to come in, for something mission related, at the ungodly time of 4:18 in the morning. He had just turned the corner, walking, his car in Q-branch for some fine-tuning, toward the side entrance of MI6 when he spotted Q coming from the other direction. He looked like he too had just rolled out of bed, trousers rumpled, more than likely the pair he had worn to work earlier. His hair more than a little wild, but his eyes were alert and he smiled when he saw Bond. 

Q would reach the gate first, and Bond, not wanting to have to type his code in too, picked up his pace to make sure he caught it. 

But they never reach the gate, a black car rounds the corner behind Q, tires screeching on the pavement. Q turns, his steps faltering. Bond, however, having years of training that screams instantly that no one should be rounding corners like that.  He takes off into a sprint, as the car slows and two men jumps out. 

Surprise catches Q off guard, but instinct kicks in when the first one grabs for him. Planting his back foot, Q swings at the attackers. The first man ducks, but he falls back a bit to avoid another. Both clad in black, with crude ski masks on, Bond can't make anything out, as he finds himself crashing in on the attack. 

Tackling the second man, James rolls with the movement as they hit the ground; Bond springs back up onto his feet. He keeps an eye on Q, who lands a punch to the first man’s side. The man grunts in pain, and stumbles back, but doesn't move to attack Q. 

The second man seemed to not have the same hang ups about hitting back, and immediately started swinging at Bond. For a moment it was a blur of punches and kicks, but Bond knew it was only a matter of time before he would win. That was before James heard a distinct cry, and turned to see the first man twisting Q’s arm up and around, popping it out of the socket in one move.

“Jean!” the first man called, seemingly to the man in the car. The back door swings open and the man pushes Q towards it. 

“Bond!” Q shouts, good arm elbowing back and hitting the man square on the nose. The man cries out, cradling his nose as he lets go of Q.

With two swift jabs to the throat, the second man hit his knees, choking on his crushed airway. The gasps only fueling James’ rage. He turns, ignoring the hobbling man who moves away from James and towards the black sedan. 

The men seemed to sense their plan had failed and together jump into the back seat, speeding off before the door was closed. Drawing his gun, Bond lets off a string of bullets, breaking the headlights and the back window before it rounded the far corner and disappearing from sight. 

Q, who had been standing a few feet away, staggers closer. Bond looks at him, a mask of indifference trying to cover the pain and fear that were all over the younger man’s face. 

“Are you-” Bond never got a chance to finish, because at that moment, Q's eyes closed and he began to collapse, falling forward. Instinct reacts and Bond manages to catch his Quartermaster before he hits the pathway. He has to heft Q up, to keep his grip; he’s grateful that he hasn’t caught the dark haired man on his dislocated shoulder.

Almost simultaneously, the gates burst open, four guards coming out with guns up, searching the area, before all four turn to look at the double 0, and the unconscious leader of Q-branch in his arms.

~

To say that Bond hated Medical, was like saying cats hated dogs or arachnophobics hated spiders. It was obvious, overstated and completely 1000% true. 

Still it was nothing like saying that M hated when his agents were shot at and especially when their had been an attempted kidnapping of the Quartermaster. 

“How the _hell_ does this sort of thing happen?” M demands, turning to look at Bond and Tanner, eyes dark and focused. Unlike Bond and Q, M is very much dressed like he is used to being awake in the middle of the night. His suit crisp and even, like he hadn’t been just woken to the call of MI6 Quartermaster under attack.

Bond says nothing, watching with close eyes as two nurses set Q’s shoulder back into place, while a doctor looks over the nasty gash across his left cheek, it looked like the attacker had gotten one good punch in.

“It seems there was a confusion among the guards, who were supposed to be right inside the gate. A call had come in that they were needed inside. By the time they realized it had been false, Q should have all ready been abducted,” Tanner says, also the professionally dressed, though his tie did look a bit wrinkled. There were bags under his eyes, which spoke to Tanner probably having been awake for close to some amount of days at that point. 

“Abducted,” M sneered, looking over at Q, who sat quietly, still a bit in shock, as the nurse coaxed his arm into a sling. 

“Who the fuck tries to abduct the MI6 Quartermaster?” M asks, specifically toward Bond.

“I have no idea sir,” Bond replies, watching the hollowed look on Q’s face, letting it fill him with anger. He had seen friends, colleagues, even lovers get hurt before. But there had always been some knowledge that MI6 was safe ground. A haven. Now twice in the span of two years it had been attacked; their haven violated. And this time, Bond thinks, he isn't losing another friend to someone who thought they could play with MI6.

“But I do intend to find out,” he says, to M, whose steel gaze meets his own. Mallory nods, his eyes dark and glittering with the need to protect his people.

M takes two strides to the doctor, Doctor Bridges, Bond thinks, the one with no hair and that smells like peppermint and chocolate all the time. One of a very slim few who doesn't go into fits if Bond shows up bleeding, almost dead and holding a bottle of scotch. Dr. Bridge has wrapped up looking over Q, making notes on a chart about his conclusions.

Tanner stands, moving next to Bond. At first the agent doesn’t acknowledge the move, finding himself too absorbed in watching the nurse inject Q with something to ease the pain from his shoulder. Q mumbles something trying, it seems, to get her to not give the shot. She just nods and mutters something back, sliding the needle into his arm with practiced ease. Q struggles for a moment, and then as it takes affect, his eyes begin to drift shut. They lay him back, covering him up with a blanket. 

“He’d be in their hands if it wasn’t for you,” Tanner says, lowly, only loud enough for Bond to pick it up. “She’d be proud tonight, Bond.” 

Bond bristles at this, and shoots Tanner a look. The shorter man simply nods and turns to follow M out, who has gathered all he needs from the doctor. 

“How will he be?” James speaks up as the Dr. Bridges moves to slip past him.

“Fine, he just needs sleep. The shock of it all will easier for him to handle once he wakes up,” Bridge says, and smiles to Bond before heading away. The nurses leave too, with a small glance to Bond.

For a moment, he just looks at the Quartermaster, now soundly asleep. The gash stands out bright under the two butterfly strips, at least no stitches were needed. They had stripped Q from his outer jumper and shirt, leaving him in an undershirt. It does little to hide the skinny nature of the man before 007, and for a moment, he supposes, yes, M would have been proud, but just like Mallory, she would be raising hell at the audacity of someone thinking they could take the Quartermaster. And now, no matter what, Bond knows he will carry on in the same manner. 

And not at all for the tightness in his gut at the thought of losing Q.

~

Eve Moneypenny finds him, by 5:25 a.m., as he goes over the footage from the fight. She, like M, is dressed like she has just come in from her morning commute, one hand holding her morning coffee. 

“So the rumors are true,” she says, without preamble, “someone tried to take Q this morning.”

“Tried being the operative word,” Bond says, watching again, as the men jump into the car’s open door. On screen he draws his gun and fires off shots, but this time he focuses on Q who is glancing at the other end of the street, from where he had been coming from. The shots sound loud over the speakers, and there is the distant sound of glass breaking when his shots finally land.

“Hmm, yes, you did have splendid timing, why was that?” she asked, the question Bond hadn’t been able to stop asking yet.

He hums thoughtfully, before rewinding the tape and watches the car come rounding around the corner again. 

“Has M traced why we had been called in?” Bond asks, watching as the men jump out again, running straight at Q, who is frozen on screen, like he can’t believe what is happening. 

“You had been called in due to a mission in Dubai, but Double-O Three has been sent. M wants you on this. Q’s call in was a fake, like the call for the guards,” Eve watches as the assailant twists Q’s arm around, flinching when she hears him cry out. “Bastards,” she whispers. 

“Jean!” the man is talking to the driver, Bond can see him clearly looking to the car. There is no response, the driver doesn’t crack a window, just opens the back door. 

“Bond!” Q’s voice is terrified, Bond can hear it better this time. Fear. Deep instinctive fear of knowing someone is coming to get you. It twists at him, watching how close they got. And really it was luck that Q wasn’t in that car, hadn’t been carted off like a prize from a fair, to where ever they had gone. 

The elbow jab lands and Bond's lips twitch in a half-smirk as he sees the man grab for his nose, even sees the blood dripping between his fingers. Q probably broke it. The attackers dive for the door, not glancing back at Q or Bond, just focused on getting the hell away.

Refocusing his gaze, Bond watches as he raises his gun again, taking steps toward the car to fire. Q is off to the side, staring down the road in the opposite direction, and then Bond sees Q flinch and start to stumble toward Bond. 

“There was nothing else you could have done, Bond, why are you watching this?” Eve asks, rubbing her arm slightly, like she’s feels a draft.

“Do you see this?” Bond asks, gesturing to the screen when he rewinds for the fifth time. 

“What am I watching for?” she asks, leaning in closer. 

“The men, they don’t attack until I interfere,” Bond comments, point to the man who has to duck to miss Q’s first punch. The second has several moments to throw a punch, to knock Q out, to hurt Q in any way. Instead he seems to be trying to calming Q down, like he’s a toddler who doesn’t want to go take a nap.

Then Bond tackles the second, and Q lands a punch. The attacker in front of Bond moves to the offensive, but it takes several moments before the first is twisting Q’s arm, popping his shoulder out of place. His cry cuts through harshly over the speakers.

“The first had plenty of time to knock Q out, and get him in the car. We weren’t exactly fighting for our lives. It’s like they had orders to not harm Q,” Bond says, and looks up at Eve, who looks just as confused as he felt.

“If their main object had been to capture him, why would it matter if he’s scratched up?” Eve asks, voice edged with seriousness.

“They wouldn’t care. I don’t think this is their last planned attack” Bond says, “I think someone is coming for our Quartermaster, for keeps.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS!
> 
> Chapter has some angst. Also, + all the internet for the soul who comments with the name of person I have as one of Q's ex-lovers. I think it's obvious but only if you watch the show he's from. 
> 
> Oh! Thoughts on this becoming bondlock?! As I edit this one and write the next fic in this series there is an opening for Mycroft and Sherlock to come in if that something you guys want! I need opinions though!! 
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS!

It’s almost noon, when Q manages to wake up again. His brain pounds away at the inside of his skull and his shoulder feels like someone tried to rip it off, and for one moment, he isn’t sure where the hell he is. Then it all comes back to him, and he sits up, “ _bugger_ ,” falling from his lips.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Bond says, sitting in a chair beside the bed. 

Q doesn’t need his glasses to note the look of seriousness in Bond’s posture. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Seven hours or so,” Bond replies, and Q swears again, though internally this time.

“Have we found out anything?” he asks, and ducks his head to find his glasses. He moves his right arm before the screaming pain in his shoulder makes him remember that he’ll have to lead with his left.

“The car was found, abandoned only a few miles from here, not much to go on. The two men who attacked us were dead, shot in the head,” Bond says, in a tone that show no sympathy.

“Well that’s that then,” Q says, nodding once his glasses are on and he can see properly again. 

“We think the driver, Jean, got away in a different vehicle,” Bond says, flipping through the file. 

“Why kill the men then?” Q asks, pulling his shirt from the table, pretending to not notice the few smatterings of blood on its once pristine white surface. He doesn’t even look for his sweater, he’s sure that since it took the most of whatever blood had come from the attacker, it was being analyzed. 

“More than likely they weren’t competent enough to follow orders and complete their mission, so whoever hired them got rid of them,” James says, shifting in his seat. “You wouldn’t have any idea who that might be, do you?”

“Yes, double-o seven, I always keep a list of people who want to abduct me and use me for their nefarious purposes,” Q says, blandly.

“No, I have the list,” Bond states, with a smirk, “I was hoping you might be able to add anything or narrow it down.” 

Looking over, Q does see a list of names and organizations that Bond is looking through, a small smile on his lips.

“And boy you are popular,” 007 grins at Q, who fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Jealous, Mr. Bond? Though I guess, you weren't always the popular agent you are now. I heard once M offered two-hundred thousand pounds to the Americans to take you off her hands,” Q says, returning the smile.

Bond leans closer, just close enough for Q to suddenly feel a bit lost in those blue eyes. James’ smile grows. 

“It was five-hundred thousand, and it was to French intelligence. They refused on the grounds that I would probably sleep with all their female operatives and cause an internal war,” Bond’s mouth sinfully smug as he leans back again. 

Q laughs, leaning his head back, good arm going to his stomach. His laugh solid and uplifting, almost healing in a way, Bond thinks, because it feels so good to have caused such a reaction. Especially considering the arsed up situation they were in. 

When Q stops, he's still trying to get his shirt back on, a smile lightening his features. The sling is considerably more challenging than it seemed. He turns as he moves to get the shirt around him. Bond stands, moving the file to the bed and carefully pulls the shirt over the purple and blue bruised skin. This move draws him far too close to Q, Bond can suddenly smell him, the lingering smell of dried sweat and sleep, plus a deeper scent of Q's body. It isn't off-putting like James would have figured. Contrary, he finds himself leaning forward, inhaling again through his nose trying to place why it is so enticing.

"Thank you," Q says, interrupting James' thoughts, causing him to jerk away. 

Somehow knowing that something is off, Q twists to look at Bond, green eyes looking up at him questioningly.

There isn't anything for Bond to say, so he picks up the file, clearing his throat awkwardly. His stomach clenches painfully, and for some reason Bond has the instinct to run away. Which is simply ridiculous, so instead he flips through a few pages, and focuses back on the problem of Q being the target of kidnappers.

"Have you had any stalkers or any other interested parties recently?" Bond asks, eyes looking at the list in his hands, but not reading any of the names. 

"No, of course not," Q says and then rubs his forehead, "Christ, I haven't any contact with someone outside of MI6 besides the coffee shop clerk around the corner in the last four months!" He pauses, then realizing what he's said, blushes a bright pink.  

"I didn't- not like-That's _not_ what I meant," Q says firmly, and can't help but shake his head at Bond's growing smirk.

"Since you're thinking of it, girlfriend? Boyfriend?" Bond asks, "Ex-CIA lovers?" That last one only pure speculation that Bond had heard in passing that Q had been sleeping with a CIA agent in the past. He isn't sure why it comes out of his mouth, but he's just glad it didn't sound too peculiar.

"No current boyfriend, and that particular lover you are inquiring about lives in Washington D.C. and I hardly think he's equipped to come across the pond to kidnap me," Q says, irritation clear in his voice. 

"Not the type to hire someone to do his dirty work?" Bond asks, not thinking about how pleased he is to hear that Q is single.

"No, he's more than capable of getting his hands dirty, but he's currently head of the Technical Operations Department in the Domestic Protection Division. I think he's a bit busy to be coming here for something as pointless as trying to kidnap me," Q levels his gaze at Bond, deeply unamused. 

"And no other exes that you can think that would kidnap you? It hasn't been made clear yet that this is an organization behind the attackers," James frowns slightly, when he sees Q tense up.  

"I can't really thi-" Q cuts off when the door to Medical bursts open and a tall, dark haired man comes striding in, wearing black trousers and white t-shirt half covered in what appeared to be oil.

"Q?... _Q_!" he calls, searching the room with his green eyes. 

"Luca," Q says, swinging his legs out over the left side of the bed, as Bond hovers on the right, and shifts forward to stand.

"Bloody hell, Q, look at you. Christ, I hope you at least threw a hit," Luca says, one hand coming to cup the cheek with the butterfly bandages.

"I'm fine. Double-0 seven was there," Q says, tucking the shirt firmly around the sling.

Luca's eyes glance up to Bond's, as though just realizing he was there. He appraises James' appearance before nodding.

"Bond," he says, in greeting.

"Caldwell," 007 returns. 

"What's being done to prevent this from happening again? Have we any leads?" Luca asks, eyes flickering to the file in Bond's hands.

"I wasn't aware M was bringing you in on this," James says, not at all caring how petty it sounds. He could have sworn Q just told him that he was not involved with-

"He doesn't have to bring me in on anything. Q is my Quartermaster too, Bond. It's everyone's concern what happens," Luca says, eyes narrowing at his fellow double-0. 

"Really, it is touching that you feel the need to come and check on the Quartermaster, but I don't think it is necessary to bring anyone else in on-"

"Look, mate, I don't give a shit if you do think that you are God's gift to women, I will-"

"Oh that's rich, I'm not the one that goes around calling himself ' _double-0 sex_ ' all the time, you really are the arse-"

"Oi! Both of you shut it!" Q shouts, thumping Luca on the chest with his good arm. "You can argue like school children later. For pity's sake, could the two of you be professional for one bloody minute?" 

Shock settles over them, and probably the room at large to witness two double-0 agents being scolded like toddlers by a man barely clothed and several inches shorter than either man.

"Right," Luca huffs, and then turns his attention back to Q. " _Are you all right?"_ he asks pointedly.

"I'm fine, Luca. Thank you for coming by," the Quartermaster smiles fondly for a moment. He notices some oil is now on his sleeve and sighs. "Shouldn't you be reporting in for a debrief?"

"Perhaps I should be," he replies, with a smirk. "This took precedence, besides I couldn't very well leave you in the capable hands of this giant ar-"

"Enough! Luca, really?" a slight blush has settled on Q's cheeks, and that's all Bond can seem to focus on.

"Fine, be sure to call me if you need anything," Luca says, ducking in to kiss Q's cheek before turning and striding off. 

 Narrowing his eyes, Bond gazes at the going-to-be-dead-if-he-does-that-again agent as he leaves the Medical Section.

 "Now for you," Q says, turning to face 007. "How the hell do I get out of here without alerting M?" 

~

It didn't seem to matter that Q wanted to escape, because barely a moment later, M came in, somehow having been alerted that Q was awake.

"Q, it’s good to see you awake,” M states, smiling.

“Thank you sir,” Q replies, his back stiffening. Bond shifts the folder in his hand and nods to Tanner who has filed in behind M.

“We were just reviewing the list, sir,” Bond speaks up. He doesn’t like the way Q has been tense since Caldwell left.

“Ah, and was there anything to add?” M looks interested in this.

“Nothing, sir,” Q states. He shifts his arm, a tremble going through him as he does.

Before anyone can comment further on Q’s list, Doctor Bridges appears at M’s side as if summoned by his patient’s pain.

“Ah, good. Come let’s see you dear Q,” Bridges says and gestures back to the bed. Q glances to Bond like this is a betrayal of some kind but does as he’s told.

Bond and M step away as a nurse comes over to help Bridges get the shirt back off. Bridges immediately makes some mutters about needing post-reduction x-rays before M gets Bond’s attention. 

"Bond, I want you to take Q back to his house, there's nothing he can do here, and his shoulder could use the rest," M says, glancing back at Q.

"Sir?" Bond asks, because he's not normally given orders to be someone's bodyguard.

"I don't want to overrun Q with guards and agents trampling all over his flat, Bond. He needs rest and someone he trusts to be there during the night," M speaks softly, careful to keep their conversation away from the Quartermaster being given instructions on how to care for his shoulder.

"Wouldn't Caldwell be more...appropriate sir?" Bond hesitates to even suggest it, but if Q is dating 006 then he would be the better option.

"Double-0 six is running down leads, and I think, Q is more comfortable around you," M looks over at the younger man again, who is visibly restraining himself from strangling Dr. Bridges.

There is no point to argue the situation further, but Bond still bristles at the thought of having to be so close to Q now that he knows about him and Caldwell. A nurse takes Q to x-ray and Bond nods to M.

“Good man,” M says, and turns to find Tanner, who is definitely not making eyes at another nurse before they both leave Medical.

Bond remains until Q returns from x-ray, looking more exhausted but finally cleared to leave. James isn’t sure who is more relieved to be going but does hope they won’t have to return anytime soon.

~

Q’s flat is really more homely than Bond would have figured. His own flat was sparse in extras, and he preferred keeping extra ammo in the kitchen in case of emergencies than a garlic press or whatever it was that normal people kept.

Bond, also, assumed that Q would have kept his flat in a similar state. He wasn’t sure why he made this assumption, mostly he thought that Q wouldn’t have the time to gather so much, well, stuff. 

The flat, for starters, was bigger than Bond would have figured too, but still seemed inviting, not overwhelming. The entrance was nice enough, not tipping James off to what was to come. A small wooden side table stands next to the door, where Q drops his keys off before throwing his scarf and coat on a hook. Bond hangs his own on the peg next to Q’s. He adjusts the gun at his back, mentally double checking where ammo is located on his body.

There was a step up to main rooms and Bond almost startles when it isn't what he is expecting.

The main living area was pained a light green, though it was hard to tell, considering most of the wall is covered up with bookshelves.  Books of all kinds are stacked haphazardly in piles that aren’t being overrun by electronics. There appears to be no television, but a ridiculously large blue plush sofa and coffee table. The sofa has a blanket and looks well used. Bond shudders as he thinks of Q resting there.

"Hungry?" Q asks, from the kitchen.

"Famished," James replies, taking a step through a large dining room. It looks more like a workstation with a large area with computers and a rolling chair pushed away with a few books lounging in the seat of it.

He finds the Quartermaster flitting about the kitchen, filling mugs with sugar, though how he knew how Bond took his tea was a bit beyond the double 0. The sling is gone, flung in the bin by the opposing doorway.

“Your arm, Q,” James says, frowning.

“It’s fine,” Q says, “I’ve had a dislocated shoulder before.”

Bond huffs but says nothing else. He wants to rant and rave about how it is so far from fine that they couldn’t take a train, plane or bus back to fine. He wants to deny all the feelings that have been stirring up in him since he first saw Q in that art museum and run from the flat. James wants to hunt the son of a bitch who hurt Q and wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat. He wants to see the light go out in their eyes and never, ever, hear the sound of Q crying out in pain. 

“You’re not going to try and make me?” Q asks, after a moment of silence. He’s been tense since earlier and Bond notices how he’s holding himself stiffly.

“Will it change anything?” Bond asks. He asks sincerely because he’s never been around Q when he’s injured and while he’s thought they had a tentative friendship it has never been here before.

“I doubt it,” Q says, stubborn as ever. He does, however, sigh and go over to fish out the sling. Bond moves forward and helps him into it. They don’t speak for a bit, James so grateful to see the sling back on him that he could kiss Q.

“You’ll have to cut up the vegetables,” Q states, pulling things out of his fridge. Bond helps, grateful for the directions the younger man gives because he really isn’t known for his cooking skills.

Q, however as the source of endless shock that evening, makes some sort of sauce with small cut up veggies and poured it, with help, over some pasta. Bond was hesitant for a second until he got a good inhale of the smell and dove into his with vigor. James has trouble recalling the last time someone cooked him a meal, and empties his plate. 

His Quartermaster puts away his fair share, drinking another cup of Earl Grey with his dinner. Q had given Bond a glass of white wine, the same they had put in the sauce with his own dinner. Bond couldn’t imagine drinking tea with the fabulous meal, but found it rather endearing to watch Q drink from a union jack mug.

They talk very little beyond the weather and some mild interoffice gossip. Mostly about 003-an agent named Beltrane (who had bungled a mission and nearly been killed) and about whether they would ever move from the bunker (it seemed likely in the new year).

 The dishes, Q insists, can get put off til morning. He relays the time he will be up and moving around to get ready for work. They have a brief argument about whether Q should be even going to work, which is lost due to the pointlessness of arguing with a man who is as stubborn as a mule. Neither will voice this thought they both share.

Q has put away the leftovers and moved the dishes to his sink, minus the two mugs Bond gathers up.

“Goodnight, Bond,” Q states, nodding as he assesses the room before turning towards the doorway. 

"Goodnight, Q," Bond says, watching as Q pauses in the doorway.

“Alex,” Q says, teeth tugging at his bottom lip. “My name is Alex. I figure if you continue saving my life, you have the right to know.”

Bond nods, not finding anything to say in return. ‘You can call me James?’ No, that sounded too presumptuous and he wasn’t sure if he how he would react if Q- _Alex_ actually said his first name. By the time these thoughts filter through, Alex has nodded back and then slipped out of the kitchen, going toward his bedroom.

Alone in the fluorescent lighted kitchen, still holding the union jack mug, Bond can only stare at the empty doorway and think how badly he wants to go after Q.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no comments on Bondlock? Come on ppls I know someone has an opinion. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and yes, Auggie from Covert Affairs was the ex-lover of Q. Keep commenting with your thoughts about this I love to hear from you all.

Bond wished he had had actually slept during the night as he watched the sunrise illuminate the sky in lovely shades of orange and red. Every time he had tried to close his eyes Q was there, in his mind, screaming his name in pain. If James had been more self-reflective he may have wondered why of all people he had seen injured Q-no Alex was haunting him the most.

Instead, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to focus on getting through the day. They would need to really start eliminating people off the suspects list if they were to ever get to the bottom of the mystery of who wanted to kidnap the dear Quartermaster.

It was barely half six when Q came stumbling downstairs, hair even in more disarray as he narrowed his eyes on the kettle and bypassed Bond all together.

"Morning," Bond greeted. He had cleaned up from the night before, and straightened what he could. It had been a surprisingly long night and of course Q had no television…well, at least a working one.

"Mprhghaph," Q muttered. He flapped his hand in Bond's direction, head bent forward as he peered at the kettle in contempt. Bond smiled as he noticed Q's lack of glasses as he fumbled to get the damn thing going.

"How about I fix the tea this morning?" Bond offers, his hand itches to reach out and run down Q's back, to feel the fabric of his shirt to smooth the untamable creases that came from Q's sleeping in it. His pajama pants hung low on his hips as Q turned there was a peek of pale hipbones and Bond forced his eyes up.

"Grey," Q says, turning to nearly stumble over his own trashcan before making his way back out of the kitchen.

Chuckling, Bond turns back to kettle and gets it started. He wondered if Q was ever coherent first thing in the morning. Helpfully, his brain supplied the possibility that Caldwell might know. After that all thoughts of the domestic, cozy Q he had witness were tainted by the thoughts of 006 wandering around getting Alex tea in the morning.

He scowls at the kettle and spends the rest of the morning trying to put out even more thoughts than before.

~

By the time they made it to Headquarters, Q finally managed to become something resembling a normal human. His shoulder was still swollen, even though he tried to play it off as nothing. The sling was on, but Bond figured it was possibly going to be 'misplaced' by the end of the day.

They separated once they were inside. Q needing to go to Q-branch and Bond needing to report to M. Q spared a glance to Bond as he was jogging up the stairs, but neither said anything. Bond opened his mouth to tell Q to have a good day, but the words died when he saw 006 jog over to greet Q and see how he was.

By the time Q had a chance to look back at the steps, he finds them empty.

~

"Sir," Bond greets M as he steps into the office. Eve Moneypenny had been shockingly quiet when he exited the lift. James hoped that it wasn't a pending omen of bad news.

"Bond, good. We have some news," M says, gesturing to Tanner. The other man nods in greeting and looks like he managed to get some rest the night prior and change his clothes. Bond returns the nod.

"The bodies were hard to identify because of the burnt state of them, but we managed some DNA from the pair," Tanner clicks on his computer and two faces pop up.

The first, on the left, has blond hair and brown eyes. His nose has a crooked quality that tells Bond it has been broken several times in the past. His friend on the right has more refined features. His brown hair is short and stylish, and his face lacks any scars or disfigurements that can come from years of fighting.

"The first is Markov Fisher," Tanner has enlarged the blond's face on the screen. "He's former KGB turned assassin that has been doing the odd job here and there for several organized crime families. He was believed to be dead all ready from a raid early this year."

Clicking around the brown haired man comes up on the screen. "This is Antoine Ludvick. He used to work in the FBI before leaving the Bureau during a large case against a crime family operating in the States and in Russia. Of course, he took several key pieces of evidence against the family in question and has been working with them. They have been known to work together." Tanner glanced to M, who had been standing back during the report.

"We don't think the family they work for has anything to do with this kidnapping," M says, sighing.

Internally, Bond curses. Of course nothing could be that easy.

"In fact, we believe they were loaned out to some other organization or family to act as expendable muscle for the kidnapping. Neither have any real connections to other kidnappings, mostly they have been suspected and convicted of drug distribution and weapons trafficking. They may have been used to get the families close to some one else who used Ludvick and Fisher as a first attempt to get Q," M rubbed his forehead.

"Meaning they will try again," Bond says. "And if they killed them after only one attempt they must have a different plan for the second."

M inclines his head in agreement. None of them mentioned that they had no clue what that plan might be.

~

M, understandably, assigns Bond to shadow Q the rest of the day. He states that Caldwell is still tracing down and crossing names off the suspect list. He wanted James to be right with Q in case there was another attempt. The way that M didn't suggest handing off the assignment to anyone spoke volumes to how serious M was taking the threat. He wasn't trusting anyone beyond the double-O's with Q's safety.

So, Bond travels down to Q-branch, spotting Q as he works frantically out in the main area with his minions. As James suspected the sling has disappeared in his absence.

"Bond," Q says, when he finally catches sight of him coming in. 

"M thought I would stay out of trouble down here while I have all this free time," Bond says, glancing around the room. Q nods, and does the same sweep. Neither of them know who might be listening.

"Well I suppose it won't be too much hardship to have someone else to fetch me tea and crisps," Q says, lips quirking into a small smirk. Bond chuckles and grins at Q's slight blush around his ears.

"I live to serve," Bond says, half-bowing to Q, as he tries to not think about where else Q's blush might show up.

Q takes him to the small, attached break room through a side door at the back of the room next to the exit to the main cubicles, where other agents are working away.

When Q starts babbling about how Bond doesn't have to really get him tea and crisps, Bond thinks that spending the day forced to follow Q-no Alex around with his lovely blush might not be such a horrible thing after all. Besides, what was the likelihood there would be another attempt today?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments on Bondlock. I really did need the feedback for this one. Unfortunately I still haven't decided. Expect the rest of this fic to be up before X-mas. The sequel will be (hopefully) arriving over the New Year. I'm hitting finals so I can't guarantee this timeline but it is what I'm hoping. 
> 
> Keep commenting. Love hearing your thoughts as things unfold. 
> 
> *Warnings for this chapter* Work-place violence, BAMF!Q, and (very) minor characters deaths.

The first thing that Bond notices is a guard walking into the far door Q-branch. It wasn’t necessarily strange for them to be inside the building, but down in the cells, not usually on Q-branch level. The guard walks around the back, keeping his distance from them, but Bond can all ready feel him casing the room.

He shifts his stance as he sees two plain-clothes agents also heading toward the Q-branch door. A man and woman. Her hair brown hair is pulled fashionably up, and his suit is nicer than Bond expects to see from someone not a double-O.

It wasn’t strange, except the little hairs on the back of 007’s neck were standing up. The ones that alerted him to when danger was near. 

Then he watches them fall in step together, both being too casual to actually be casual. They enter together, pausing just inside the door as it closes.

Unconsciously he puts a hand on the small of Q's back, as the second one pulls something out and attaches it to the door. Even from across the room Bond can hear a distinct beep of something happening. 

The first agent looks to the guard, and gives the slightest of nods. Adrenaline pumps viciously into Bond's blood stream, and he draws his gun.

"Everyone down!!" he shouts and shoves Q to the floor, almost landing on top of him when he drops too.

Almost instantly, gunfire erupts. People scream, some diving for the ground like Bond had said, others frozen, unsure what was happening.

Raising himself, Bond lets off three shots, and swears when he sees them make contact with the body armor on the guard's chest. 

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Q demands, when Bond ducks down behind the desk again.

"Looks like they've come in with the strong tactic to get you," Bond says, glancing over at the desks in between his clear shot.

"They can't possibly think they can escape from this room," Q says, shaking his head. "They're insane. Agents are right outside the doors!" 

Getting back up, Bond lets off shot after shot, some towards the duo stuck by the door, some to the guard stuck at the opposite back corner. When he drops back down, he notes the agents at the door, beating away at the bullet-proof glass. One is on the phone, talking rapidly to someone, but he doesn’t hold out hope for them to come to the rescue.

"The door is locked, Q. They've got some kind of device on it," Bond says, getting his second clip out from his ankle strap and putting it on the desk. He doesn't need it yet, but knows he will.

The guard is advancing up the left (Bond's left) side of the room. A tech tries to stand and get away, but the guard shoots him down. 007 puts three bullets in the computer in front of the guard, who gets hit with a puff of smoke when it goes up and coughs, roughly pulling back.

Q is beside him, typing away frantically on the computer. He's not flinching when bullets sink into the wall behind them. Bond has no clue what he's doing, only that he probably shouldn't be doing it. 

"I can't open the electronic locks, they've jammed the response pad on the door!" Q says, typing some more before he gets frustrated and beats his fist down on the keyboard. "Open you bastard!" 

Bond swivels shooting at the man and woman at the door, who are firing right back, not even hesitating to take out two more techs that are trying to move out of range. Shots hit the back of Q's computer and James drags them both down as the computer also goes up.

"That blasted door isn't open yet!" Q shouts, green eyes frantically glancing around at the bullet holes in the large monitors on the wall, like he's just realizing there is a gunfight going on. 

"Leave that to the agents! You stay down, understood?" Bond doesn't wait for a response, leveling up again, aiming for the duo, and managing to put a bullet in the woman's chest, who cries out and goes down. 

It almost doesn't register for 007 because something goes tearing through the top of his shoulder, even though it feels like the whole bloody thing has been ripped off and he hits the ground. 

For a moment, Bond struggles to catch his breath, as he finds himself staring up at the plain white tiled ceiling, pain racing up and down his left arm and shoulder.  And _bloody fuck_ he hates getting shot. He can't sit up yet, everything a hum in his ears and he's forcing breath in and out of his mouth. He knows he needs to get up because they are still getting shot at and now there is no one to return fire, to protect Q. He needs to get up and get his gun up...Bond flinches as the sounds of gunfire starts, much closer than the men should be, and when he looks up he sees something that for a moment he struggles to comprehend. 

Then all at once he realizes two things. His gun is no longer in his hand, and someone _is_ returning fire to the men. 

_Q_ has his gun, crouched up behind his monitor, arms resting on the top as he fires shot after shot at the man near the door. He ducks down, eyes focusing on the gun as they return fire. Q ejects the clip, smoothly, grabbing the second clip Bond had put on the desk and sliding it in like a professional. He pushes the release on the slider, before leveling himself up again, his sharp green eyes deadly focused out over the room as he defends them. 

Suddenly, Bond finds the energy to move, reaching down and pulling his spare sidearm from his other ankle strap, and getting up on his feet again. He situates himself next to Q, arms over the computer tower as he begins firing at the guard, who takes several more to the chest.

The guard hits the wall from the force, and twists angling to turn towards the back of the room.

"Jean! Now!" he shouts, though it doesn't seem like he is talking to the other man in the room.

The door to Q's office slides open; a man is there, wearing a mask. He quickly assesses the situation, before disappearing into the office. Bond notes the blond hair and from the sliver of skin, Caucasian, before he slips out of sight. Before Bond can deal with that, he hears a loud _thud_ and looks up to see the agents outside the door with a battering ram.

Q and Bond move in tandem for several more seconds. They are running low on ammo, but the man and the guard seem to know it’s getting pointless. When Q lands two shots to the man’s leg, the guard makes a run for Q’s office.

A downpour begins abruptly, the sprinklers responding to the smoke coming from several computers.

“Q, stay here,” Bond says, struggling to stand, the pain in his shoulder trying to overcome the adrenaline in his system. Q’s face is pink but his eyes are stern and cold as he glances up to give a brisk nod.

They part ways for a moment, Bond moving quickly towards the office door. He tries to not see the injured men and women around him, but he can hear them as he moves down the aisles. His heartbeat goes wild in his chest; Bond can feel it almost as well as he can feel the blood running down his chest and back, mixing with the water drenching him. He keeps his gaze narrowed in on the open door of Q’s office. Getting close, he tucks his back against the wall and takes a steadying breath through his nose.

Swinging into the room, Bond scans it quickly but finds it empty. He sighs in disappointment, but turns instinctively when he feels movement at his back. His gun levels at Caldwell, who’s armed and looking around into the room.

“Q?” He demands, eyes round with concern.

Bond gestures with his head toward the main room. He follows 006 back out into the chaos. The sprinklers are still going, but the door is open so agents and medics have come in to tend to the injured.

Caldwell makes haste to Q’s side, who’s standing near the middle of the room, gun in hand still, a bloody pool of water around his feet. He looks defeated; shoulders slumped as he surveys the room. Luca says something; the chaos is too loud for Bond to hear it, but Alex slumps against the double-O, accepting the comfort of having some place to rest safely for a moment. Even if Bond fears that it will only last the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally have to be up by 6 am. 
> 
> INSTEAD OF SLEEPING I CHOSE WRITING. BC I"M A MORON.
> 
> I'm gonna regret this tomorrow.
> 
> Warnings: More minor character deaths and ugh feelings. Cliffhanger Ending tag has been added to the fic. Note that this fic ends before a conclusion. The conclusion will come in the sequel.

Medical seemed much more lively the second time that Bond found himself visiting. He's not thrilled to be seeing Medical twice in as many days, but at least this time he doesn’t have to see the hollow look on Q’s face again. Not because he wasn’t also in Medical, getting stitches for a new gash on his forehead, but because Bond was seated on the bed behind him, while they both faced the telly that had reports of their injured colleagues in the A&E, those that were too badly injured to be treated on site. As it was, several other beds had patients in them, but not enough for Bond to feel relieved at the outcome.  

“They got in through an escape hatch,” Tanner says, sitting near them both, typing away on a laptop. “We think two managed to get away through the same tunnel.”

“Jean was one,” Bond says, and Tanner glances up.

“Probably. Since we have nothing from the first attack, we can only assume,” Tanner says. “We have men canvasing down in the tunnels now that we know that was there route inside. Hopefully they will find something.”

“Where are we on identifying the dead attackers?” 007 asks, barely wincing when the wound on his shoulder gets cleaned out by a nurse.

“Two are former CIA agents, reported they went rogue for the last two years,” Tanner turns the computer to show Bond the photos they had collected. The woman had a dark look on her face that made her seem older than she was. The man was the other agent but the photo was of when he had had longer hair.

“What was their escape plan if they had managed to get Q?” Bond asks, looking at the path they had to take. 

“There are three tunnels underneath Q-branch that lead out to the sewers. They could have used any of them if they had gotten me into my office. There is an escape hatch under my desk,” Q says, turning slightly. 

Bond doesn’t have time to avoid the painful look in Q’s eyes. Instead, it hits him full force and only training keeps him from getting up and pulling the younger man into his arms. He is saved from doing this by Tanner speaking up.

"We've got a hit," he says with considerable joy. "We crossed the possible acquaintances of both the dead kidnappers and the rogue CIA agents and we've got the name of an organization that they both have some ties to. Omnuri." Tanner glances over to Q, who tenses shoulders rigid, neck bowed as his hand comes up to wipe away something on his mouth.

"You know them?" Bond asks, trying to not read too much into Q's sudden scared, hunch position.

"Briefly," he answers in a sharp tone. "They tried to, uh, recruit me away from MI6 about six months ago." Q doesn't sound pleased to hear it is the Omnuri, and pushes away a nurse who had finished stitching the cut to his forehead and was trying to put a bandage over it. Q stands, hand going to the bed as he steadies himself, but Bond can see the fine tremble in his hands. Whoever they Omnuri are, Bond wants them destroyed for causing such a fearful reaction in his Quartermaster.

"Most of what we know is loosely based on what we gathered after Q brought them to our attention," Tanner says, seemingly not noticing Q's struggle for the moment. "They have been getting stronger in the last six months. Opened two more branches of their organization, one in Hong Kong, and the other in Los Angeles. We think they have promoted Andrew Wells to running things here in London."

Q flinches, but hides it well enough for Tanner to miss it, but Bond wonders if this Wells is the one who tried to recruit Q personally. Whatever he thinks about asking, disappears when the news is updated.

_"Well, the updates continue as we have received word that one more agent from the earlier shooting has passed away this evening. I repeat, this brings the total dead up to six, eight remain in the hospital being treated for injuries sustained during the shoot out at MI6 Headquarters earlier today,"_ the anchor says, shifting slightly. _"In other news..."_

They all tune her out. 

Tanner's phone rings, and he picks it up without hesitation. He speaks quietly for a moment, nodding for a moment and then says, "yes, thank you," before hanging up.

Q sits back on the bed, James can see the tears forming in his eyes, but instead of them falling, Q manages to straighten his back and push them back for Tanner's news.

"It's Margaret Smith, Q. She just died in surgery," Tanner says in a low voice, before pushing his phone back on the table. 

Nodding, Q looks to the other techs sitting in the medical area, they seems to also be waiting for the news that they hadn't caught from Tanner.

"Maggie has passed away," Q says to them, back rigid as he looks at each of them. There are a few slow nods, tears forming in there eyes, some all ready crying. 

Bond wonders how well Q knew Maggie, if they had had lunch together, if she knew how he liked his tea, if they talked tech when it got late and Q-branch went down to skeleton crew. James thinks about how she may have been Q's friend and ally in Q-branch and if this will be the straw that finally breaks Q's spirit. He wonders but doesn't ask, unsure if he would be able to handle the answers. 

~

It takes hours for Medical to empty. Staff that are able to be released are sent home, most with agents of their own. Some go to the temporary Q-branch while the original is swept for forensics.

Tanner receives word four hours after the incident that the body of the guard was found in the tunnels. Once again there is a severe lack of evidence to point to who Jean is. Bond passes along his descriptors that he could from the brief glance of the man. It doesn’t help the search much.

Q falls asleep post-stitches. Caldwell stops through but when he spots Q sleeping, he turns and leaves. He only spares a nod for Bond before he’s gone out the door again. For some reason it irritates James that Luca couldn’t have spared more time for Q.

Time closes in on midnight and the news announces all other staff are in the clear, the total brought up only once in the interim. Omnuri had claimed seven of their own that day.

When most of the staff are gone and the remaining patients are asleep or sedated, M comes through being trailed by double-o nine, a tall, olive-skinned man named Rathbone. He nods to Bond, and takes a long look at Q’s sleeping form. Rathbone frowns sadly, but says nothing.

“Bond, good. Rathbone will be taking you and Q back to his flat tonight,” M says.

“Is that wise, sir?” James asks.

“So far being here has been the problem, Bond. Two attempts in two days and all on our soil? No, his flat is the better option. It’s less likely they know about it since their focus has been here. Q needs some time to heal while we dig into the Omnuri. Double-oh nine will stay with you both tonight and keep an eye.”

“And Caldwell?” Bond really has to stop asking.

“Will be chasing down a lead concerning Omnuri. He was the double-oh who did most of the initial research on the Omnuri when Q brought it to our attention,” Mallory looks at Q’s sleeping form.

“I want you to stick with this Bond. You’ve averted both attempts. Seems like maybe luck is with you on this one,” M says. He glances to Rathbone. “Bring a car around Henry. Bond will bring Q up.”

The men leave, Rathbone telling James where to meet him. Q is mostly awake by the time they are leaving. He’s not been sedated, at his own insistence but Doctor Bridges slips a bottle of pills into Q’s hand just in case.

The car ride is near silent. Q stares out the window, eyelids drooping but he keeps bringing them open again. Bond’s shoulder starts to throb a bit as they get closer to Q’s flat. The nurse had numbed it up pretty good but most the meds were wearing off.

They go again to Q's flat, this time things feeling drastically different now that they have a name to go with the mysterious organization hunting their Quartermaster.

And yet, as they enter Q's flat, Bond feels like he is coming home after a long day at work. Q drops the keys in the same bowl on the entrance table near the door, tossing up his coat and scarf again. This time Bond shrugs his outer coat and puts it on the hook next to Q's. Rathbone follows and drapes his coat on Q’s couch.

Still it was strange to see their coats hanging next to each other, like they had claimed those hooks when they had moved in together, and now was old habit for them. Bond shook his thoughts and trails after Q.

“Tea, Rathbone?” Q inquires as he trudges toward the kitchen.

“Please. Sugar too if you don’t mind,” Henry states, making a space on the coffee table before pulling out his sidearm and cleaning kit.

“Make yourself at home,” James grumbles before following Q into the kitchen.

Q seems robotic as he moves around the kitchen. It’s drastically different from the night prior when Bond had watched him cook them dinner. He had been lively, muttering and digging through cabinets to find ingredients. Bond feels like he’s watching another person.

“Why don’t you let me make the tea?” Bond offers. They are both in slings, Bond’s left and Q’s right.

Dark hair flops into Q’s eyes as he nods. It’s dried from the sprinkler’s downpour and become even more wild than normal. He looks rumpled, as if he was a smooth piece of paper than has since been balled up and tossed across the room. Q turns to James and looks up, unshed tears suddenly brimming in green eyes.

“There’s tea in the cabinet above the stove,” Q says, and nods again. The tears waver for a moment, and Bond’s chest hurts to see them.

“Q, why don’t you rest? I’ll bring the tea through,” Bond says. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Despite hating 006, he does wish that Luca was there to know how to comfort Q. So far, Bond had only managed to know that Q-no, Alex liked tea and tech. It made him an expert only above Rathbone.

“Yeah, I’ll just-“ Q wanders out of the kitchen turning left towards the back of the flat.

~

Making tea is difficult with one arm, but Bond manages like the trained agent he is. Meaning he nearly scalds himself with hot water twice. He drops Rathbone’s off on the coffee table. Henry grunts in thanks, all ready putting together his sidearm again.

With more care, Bond follows the hall back to the single bedroom. He had only been back through twice during his previous visit to use the loo. It hadn’t been dark then, and Q definitely hadn’t been snuggled into his bed, arm propped up on a pillow as he flicks through something on a tablet.

“Tea?” he states after knocking for admittance to Q’s room.

“Thank you, Bond,” Q says, he’s wearing the same shirt from the night prior and it looks even softer than it had that morning.

“You should take some of those pills that Bridges gave you. It would help,” Bond says, rattling the bottle that he had found in the kitchen bin. He sets the tea and the bottle on Q’s nightstand.

“They make me fuzzy,” Q says, and shrugs with his good arm. “Besides, they always knock me out for days. Even half a dose will make me useless for a week.”

Bond hums noncommittally. He’s got no room to demand Q to take them anyway. His own history with listening to medical advice is well known and often a warning to use for other agents. James sighs, despising the fact that he doesn’t know how to care for someone, especially Q in a time like this.

“What happens when they find An-the Omnuri?” Q asks. He shifts under the covers and fixes Bond with a serious look. “I’m assuming M won’t simply ask them to stop trying to steal MI6’s Quartermaster?”

Chuckling, James shakes his head. “No, M isn’t the type to send them off with a scolding for this.” He doesn’t mention what he’s likely to do once they get the Omnuri member responsible into MI6.

“I’m serious Bond. I need to know what will happen to them.” It is Alex speaking this time. Not the MI6 tech genius, but the man who had lost friends that day and needed answers that their deaths would be avenged.

“Those that are brought in will be arrested and put in prison,” Bond carefully leaves off the part where he will probably kill as many as he can so they don’t get the luxury of rotting in prison.

“Prison, yes, that’s good,” Q nods, but he doesn’t look like it’s good. He looks ill.

“Try to not think about it, Q. We have to get them in first,” Bond says, and winces when that makes Alex run a hand over his face.

“Try to not think about it? Seriously? It’s _all_ I can think about, Bond. Those people that died today were under my supervision. I hand-picked some of them. I trained most. They were my people! And they died because of me!” Q shouts.

“They died because of the Omnuri!” Bond counters.

“Who were after me!” Q replies. The tears form in his eyes again. “They weren’t agent who died today, Bond. We are suppose to be there to be support the agents, not need agents to support us.” He shakes his head and turns in the bed, putting his back to Bond.

“I’m tired now double-oh seven. You can take the tea back to the kitchen,” Q says, squirming under the covers until he’s not fully on his arm.

Bond hesitates, the urge to argue further with Q still there in the front of his mind. Finally he nods and picks up the mug as he walks back to the door.

He pauses, half-way out the door, to say lowly, “Sleep well, Alex.”

~

It doesn’t take long for Bond to settle on the sofa once he kicks Rathbone into the dining room to find a spot to continue his ritual cleaning of his weapons. James expects to drop for at least eight hours for some much needed recovery from the days priors and isn’t disappointed to find himself falling into slumber quickly.

Waking four hours later to Rathbone’s panicked face as he screams that the flat is on fire and he can’t find Q however really cuts into Bond’s plans.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Sorry for the delay. I wasn't in a good head space at the end of the semester and have been useless over the holidays. Hopefully I'm back to myself and you all will have some chapters to read. Thanks for the patience guys. I know I'm a hard writer to follow, but I appreciate you guys sticking with me. 
> 
> Also, hahahahaha six chapter was mighty ambitious of me, but eight should do it. At this point I think I wrap it up in seven so who knows. I just didn't want to cram everything into this chapter. Sorry.

Smoke assaulted Bond’s sense when he got yanked from slumber. It hung thick in the air, and clogged his nose and mouth. The room is oddly lit up and Bond’s mind immediately picks up on the loud sounds of fire.

“Bond! Bond!” Rathbone shakes Bond’s good shoulder. “Fire in the kitchen. I can’t find Q! Get up!” Bond is awake. He stumbles as he clamors off the couch.

“Call the fire brigade,” James orders. “Wait, what do you mean you can’t find Q?” Bond shrugs off the arm sling and fights the urge to roll his shoulder and possibly rip out stitches.

“He’s not in his room. I’ll call from the door. You’ve got one minute,” Rathbone has his mobile in his hand but looks hesitant to use it.

“We don’t leave until we get Q out,” Bond counters.

“They’ve probably all ready gotten him. I’m not burning to death for the Quartermaster!” Rathbone states. 

“Call the fire brigade! Search and block off the side alley. And don’t you dare leave without us,” Bond demands and sets off into the flat. The kitchen opening to the hallway glows, smoke billowing out into the short hall passage. James hugs the outer wall, drawing his gun. The door to Q’s room is closed, and Bond fights the reflex that something is very wrong.

He kicks open the door, smoke seeps in as Bond coughs, air feels thinner and he hunches over.

“Q!” he shouts, putting his mouth in the crook of his elbow to breathe some clean air. An explosion rocks the far side of the flat. This kind of attack didn’t make sense. There was no logical way to make sure they could retrieve Q with a fire going. Bond squints as he looks around the room.

For the most part the bedroom is untouched from the fire, besides the smoke, but it doesn’t give Bond any kind of relief because there is absolutely no sign of Q.

The fire rages and is nearly deafening as it grows. Bond can see the smoke roll along the ceiling searching for a way out.

“Q!” he screams over the noise and jumps a little when he hears the creaking of wood and what sounds like glass shattering. James shoves open the loo, gun raised, but finds that empty too. Swearing mentally, Bond starts to head back to the living room when the closet door swings open and Q comes walking out.

“Where the hell were you!?” Bond shouts. He pulls Q into a half hug, as he gets his first breath of smoke and starts coughing.

“Hidden workshop. Where’s Rathbone?” he asks, hand gripping Bond’s good shoulder almost painfully.

“Entrance. We have to get out now,” James turns them toward the door, he grips Alex’s shirt, it’s soft like something he would sleep in but that barely registers as they step out into the hallway. 

They only manage a step before loud crack sounds overhead. Bond jumps back for the bedroom door, pulling Q on him as the hit the floor just as a large section of ceiling falls and covers the hall with debris.

“Are you hurt?” Bond asks, his shoulder throbbing from the fall, but still uses both hands to sweep over Q.

“I’m fine. We’ve got to get out,” his Quartermaster demands, pulling James up to his feet.

“The hall’s blocked. We’ll have to try the window,” Bond tries to go the bathroom window but Q tugs on his hand.

“No, there’s another way.” Q guides him through the back of his closet, pushing aside the clothes and suddenly they’re going through the wall. 007 has been through some secret passageways in his time, but this unexpected. It’s a narrow set of stairs, leading them down, deep underneath the flat. Q shoves open the panel at the bottom. Bond can’t see a damn thing now that they’ve left the fire above. The air is clearer, and they both cough to get fresh oxygen.

“Hold on, I’ll get the light,” Q says, letting go of James’ hand and stepping away. The light comes on, and flickers for a moment, giving Bond a view of the messy workshop, before it goes out with an electric crack.

“Damn, hold on, I’m right here, there is another door that leads to the side alley,” Q says, voice getting closer, until he bumps into James.

“Sorry, here, take my hand. I’ll lead you through the clutter.” Q’s hand bumps into James’ chest and he trails it sideways and down, across his shirt before James catches the hand and gives a squeeze. 

“Lead the way,” James says, pretending his voice isn’t hitching. Q pulls him along, they still knock over half a dozen things and Q swears up a storm as something clacks and hits their feet. Still, they make it up a few steps and out a side door and are greeted with light again.

Bond pulls Q behind him, realizing that he had long ago dropped his gun, and they were potentially walking into an Omnuri trap.

“We have to find Rathbone and get back to the…” James trails off as they step out onto the street. The fire brigade is all ready onsite and fighting the fire. Bond’s gaze trails up to the engulfed building.

“Bloody hell,” Q mumbles, as he looks up at the blaze too. Smoke columns up into the air, forming a pillar that drifts off in the wind. Another explosion at the back of the building sends even more billowing up into the air.

A firefighter comes running up to them.

“Was there anyone else in the building?” he demands, looking them over. 

“Another man, Rathbone?” James says. 

“He the bloke on the mobile?” the firefighter asks, pointing over to where Rathbone is indeed yelling into his mobile.

“That’s him,” Bond confirms.

“What about the other flats in the building?” the firefighter asks.

“No, they were empty,” Q says.

“Come on then, there are some medics that should look you both over,” the firefighter looks at Bond’s shoulder and James knows it’s no great stretch that he’s probably pulled some stitches.

When Rathbone spots them as they are going to the back of an ambulance, he goes still and then sighs. He speaks into his mobile then hangs up.

“I’ll need to speak with your Crew Manager as soon as you get the fire under control,” Bond says, pushing Alex up into the back of the ambulance.

“I’ll send him over,” the firefighter says, and distant shouts draw him away.

The medics immediately start cutting away at Bond’s shirt while another inspects Q. Rathbone climbs in and wedges in across from Bond.

“I thought you two were dead, guess your luck hasn’t run out yet Bond,” Rathbone says with a chuckle.

“How did the fire start? Was it a bomb? Did they throw something in through a window?” James questioned.

“Don’t know. The fire was all ready going when I entered the kitchen at about five,” Rathbone shrugs. “Is how really important?”

Bond doesn’t respond to the inane question. “Did you see any vehicles that left after the fire brigade got here?”

“I couldn’t say. I was still trying to find you two. Bond, does this really matter?”

Wincing as the medic reapplies gauze to his shoulder, James shakes his head. His instincts are telling him that something is wrong, but he can’t just place it. With the adrenaline wearing off, he can feel the aches from landing on the floor.

“I’ll get the car, we can head back to headquarters whenever you are ready,” Rathbone says and climbs back out.

James closes his eyes for a moment, there’s a dull throb of a headache between his eyes. He tries to focus instead on the pieces of the puzzle that still isn’t making any sense. By the time the medic has taped down the edges of fresh gauze, Bond hadn’t made any new discoveries and opens his eyes.

His medics recommend oxygen but he declines. They nod and climb out of the rig, leaving just the other one and Q. The last medic has got a mask over Q’s face, emergency oxygen, and is pulling out a IV kit when Q goes pale and starts breathing fast even with the mask on.

“Sir, are you okay?” the medic asks, fingers going to his wrist.

“Q?” Bond asks, shifting forward. The medic grabs Q’s wrists as Q tries to take off the mask.

“Sir, just hold still. You’re okay,” the medic says, getting closer to Q, which only panics him more.

“Move, get out of here,” James demands, shoving the medic aside. He grabs Q’s upper arm with one hand and yanks the mask free with the other.

“Alex, you’re okay. I’m right here, it’s going to be okay. Just breathe,” James says, pulling his Quartermaster close, ignoring the way his shoulder throbs in protest.

“He-he-he-he…”Q tries to talk, gasping in big gulps of air as he shudders in fear.

“Nothing happened. You’re still safe,” Bond rubs Alex’s back, trying to soothe the rush of fear that had probably finally hit the dark haired man.

“He-he destroyed my home _again_!” Q choked as tears leak from his eyes. He cries for a moment, James gives him the mask back at one point when Alex can’t seem to catch his breath. Bond holds him while he works through the fear, remaining as support with calming words and any comfort he can offer.

By the time Q has regained his breath and pushed off the mask again. He’s breathing normally and James thinks the color in his cheeks is a good sign.

“Q, I have to ask you something,” Bond says, lowly trying to keep them both calm.

“Go ahead,” Q says, “you’ve probably all ready figured it out.” He sounds resigned and looks down at his hands, trying to rub some of the ash off of his fingers.

“The Omnuri aren’t the ones who are trying to kidnap you, are they?” 007 lets Q move back to the bench as he shudders from the question.

“It’s not the Omnuri. It’s just Andrew Wells. He-” Q flinches and takes a breath. Steeling himself, Alex looks up at Bond, eyes filled with a deep running fear. “He doesn’t want my skills. He just wants me...he wants to _keep_ me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN

The story that Q tells, is given inside M’s office just after dawn, Tanner and Eve the only outside parties in attendance. M hands Bond a scotch, neat, after Eve has given Q a cup of Earl Grey. It’s probably early for scotch but James needs it to keep him sane.

They all settle in, and Q starts, and right from the moment Q opens his mouth, Bond knows he isn’t going to like this story.

“I met Andrew Wells completely by accident, about eight months ago. He pulled me one night at a club,” Q says, as he seems to start losing himself in the memory.

“He was handsome, smart, funny, and at first I hadn’t thought anything of it. I wasn’t looking for something, if that is what you’re thinking. I was out with 006, Luca, we were supposed to be unwinding. I thought it would be nice, for one night to let someone look after me,” he admits, and looks down, feeling shameful.

“What happened between you?” M asks, softly; the way a father would ask a son what trouble he had gotten into.

“We had sex, at a hotel. I thought that would be the end of it, but Andrew had put a tracker on my phone, and his number in the contacts,” Q shook his head. “He called me two days later. Said he wanted to do it again. 

“Did you go?” 

“Couldn’t that time, double-o four was in Jordan. I had work, so I begged off. But he made me promise for the weekend,” Q rubbed his eyes. “I went that weekend, and we went back to his place. Well, one of his places. It was nice to think that for a moment it was real. 

“When did you notice something wasn’t right?” Eve asks.

“Not for several weeks. Not until he had bugged my apartment and had found out I was MI6,” Q says, “I don’t even know how he found out. I don’t mention work over my mobile, and there is no way I talk about it at home, I don’t live with anyone. But it didn’t matter to him, Andrew suddenly saw what I was and knew how valuable I could be. He knew I could help his position inside the Omnuri, so he tried to make me an offer.”

“That’s where the file came from,” M says, giving a small nod of understanding. 

“I reported it as they had come after my skills, and that they had tried to infiltrate my apartment. Everything was swept and cleared and I was relocated to a new flat. Andrew was furious when I disappeared; he went back to my old flat and left a note for me. It said that a pet running away from his master would always be found and brought home. That’s what he had called me before, ‘pet’ like an endearment, but I knew what it really meant to him now. I was his, and leaving only made him that much more determined.”

Bond downed the rest of his scotch, not caring that it burned down his throat. God, his stomach twisted into a knot. 

“That’s what this is about?” Bond asks, suddenly wondering when he had thought he was going to open his mouth. “They shoot up MI6, they kill agents, they attack all of us, just so this man can get his dick wet again?” He laughs ruefully and loud.

“James,” Eve hisses, eyes narrowing. 

“It’s all right,” Q says, “Double-oh seven has a point.”

M sighs, leaning back in his office chair, and thinks for a moment. “It’s clear he is using the resources of the Omnuri to come for Q. He’s not using the same method twice, he’s adapting, and obviously not afraid to do anything to get it done. We should assume he was thoroughly monitoring your flat Q, and is probably still watching MI6 for the moment. He has to be getting the information from somewhere,” M copies Q’s gesture and rubs his face. He shakes his head.

“This isn’t getting solved this instant, and now that we know more about who we are dealing with, Tanner and I will stay and run background, see exactly how Mr. Wells got involved with the Omnuri,” M states, in the way that it is clear he is giving orders. “Bond, I want you to take Q to your flat and get some rest. The two of you are burnt out. I’ll send double-o six to guard you both.” The protests are immediate. 

“Sir, I don’t think-”

“How will that be help-” Q and Bond both start, but stop when they overlap each other’s voice. Bond glances at Q, but the dark-haired man simply looks to his cup, the tea too chilled to be appeasing anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” M says, mouth curving down in a displeasing frown, “did it sound like that was a question? Because it wasn’t. This is what will be done, and we are doing it to stay ahead of this mad man, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Q states, and Bond simply nods. 

They stand, Q depositing the untouched cup back on the chair, as Bond hands his empty glass to Tanner, who simply watches them go. 

After the door shuts, Eve stands, smoothing out her skirt and goes to follow their lead. She is half way to the door when she turns partly back to M.

“What are the odds that Wells is getting information from inside MI6?” she asks, a frown coming over her features.

“Higher than I want and worse than that, it’s more logical than the bastard simply having good surveillance,” M admits.

“And the odds Bond’s luck will keep him at bay?” she asks.

Neither M nor Tanner have a good answer to that. Eve exits the office knowing a phone call she needs to make.

~

The elevator ride down to the garage is almost _painful_ if Bond thought about it. Q holds himself stiff, tense, like any minute the doors would open and someone else would try to grab him. Silence seems to breed between them, taking on its own form and pushing them apart even farther than the elevator car has space for.

Bond wants to say something, apologize, he thinks, but Christ he's never been good at that. Never has he been the type to feel the need to say sorry. That's part of why the thought of it seems to sit in the back of his throat, begging to come out and fix the situation.

He wonders if Q knows it was just anger he was speaking out of back in M's office. If he understands that really James is jealous, so _jealous_ because it isn't fair that Andrew got Q for any length of time. How Andrew could charm his way into Q's trousers and all Bond could do was manage to piss Q off or upset him? 

Apologies go a long way, he thinks, opening his mouth to say...something when the doors ding and slide open. Q pushes through first, ignoring the half-agape mouth of the double 0. 

Shutting his mouth with a click, James pushes the thoughts of apologizing to the back of his mind and clamps firmly down on them. He won't try that twice.

~ 

007 was never overly fond of his flat, at best he saw it when he had a reprieve from work; at worst when he was recovering from an injury. He didn’t have the flare for designing, and most things didn’t really belong to him. There were knickknacks that he had pulled from storage after he had come back from the dead, furniture that he had kept out of comfort, and on the mantle, a bulldog with a union jack flag on its back.

Still, he did find it some comfort that it was in a quiet area, he rarely had to deal with university students or tourists in his section of the city. The building had some charm to it, and overall it wasn’t the worst place he had ever been. Yet as Rathbone pulled the car up in front of his building, and James saw Luca leaning against the side of the building, Bond wanted to be anywhere but home.

They trudge upstairs, with no more than a nod from Luca in acknowledgement that their arrangement had been explained to him. 

Once inside, Bond tosses his jacket onto the sofa, before moving toward his wet bar, ignoring his guests. Q watches, and then glances to Luca.

“I’ll secure the flat. Try to stay away from the windows,” Luca says, patting Q’s shoulder before moving off. 

“Are you going to act like this all day?” Q asks, following after Bond.

“Like what?” Bond snaps, feeling his irritation bubble up again.

“Like a child whose favorite toy was just given away,” Q says, keeping his voice low so Luca won’t hear them argue. 

“Excuse me, did you just call me a child?” Bond asks, and then laughs, but it sounds hollow and strange to Q’s ears. “I’m not the one who slept with a member of the Omnuri, and then whose boyfriend can’t seem to realize the relationship is over!” His blue eyes seem clouded with anger and pain. 

“I have a right to a life outside of MI6,” Q states back, “just like all of the members of Q-branch. Unlike the double-o section, we know how to separate our work lives from our private lives.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bond demands, pouring three fingers of scotch in a glass.

“It means that at least I don’t go out and sleep with every woman I can!” Q says, feeling his face flush.

“At least none of the women I’ve slept with has tried to shoot up the entirety of MI-bloody 6!” James’ voice is no longer low, and Q can only imagine that Luca can hear every word wherever he is in the flat.

“You think I don’t care about that? Do you think I haven’t considered every possibility for ending this stupid situation!? I would give myself over in a heart beat if I didn’t think he would just use me to come after the people I care about!” Q shouts. 

“ _What_!? No, absolutely not! He can have you over my dead body!” Bond says, suddenly grabbing and pushing Q against the wall, his voice sounds high and anxious even to his own ears. “He does not get to win, do you hear me? And you never ever do _that_ ,” he trembles, suddenly seeing in his mind, Q calmly walking towards that maniac, glancing back to James, with a small resigned smile in place. 

“Don’t you dare think about giving into him like that,” Bond whispers, hands gripping that horrible grey sweater, feeling Q shift slightly under the pressure.

“He’ll come for my friends, James. He’ll try to cut off any means by which I could escape him. Killing my friends, colleagues just so I won’t be able to leave him,” Q whispers, and Bond finally hears the stress breaking into the younger man’s voice. “Eve, Luca, even Tanner and M. They will die because of me. And God knows what he’ll do to you once he figures out that I-” he catches himself and pushes Bond away harshly, quickly taking up the untouched drink and throwing it back.

“Once he figures out what, Q?” Bond asks, his voice gentler than before. He wants to ask about Luca again. The story earlier and the way Q’s eyes shine makes James think he’s read the whole situation wrong.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Q asks, looking up at James before turning around to cover his mouth with an unsteady hand. The Quartermaster’s eyes were rimmed with red, and Bond wondered how long before there were other marks to show how they were cracking at the seams. He wanted to absorb in the tension held in those thin but strong shoulders and back, for a moment James loses himself in what it might feel like to press against that back, to take some of the weight it carried. He takes a step closer.

“Alex, please,” Bond whispers, feeling exactly what he had felt the night before at Q’s flat, that overwhelming sense of something moving just out of his grasp. Something he knew he wanted.

“You don’t get to say that,” Q says, tears in his eyes, as he glances back to 007. “You don’t get to be like that when I just want to be _mad_ at you. That was cruel, Bond, even for you. How could you think that I don’t carry every agents’ death with me? That I don’t blame myself for the pain Andrew has caused? All of this could have been avoided if I had simply _not_ thought ‘well if Bond can do it, why can’t I have meaningless sex?’”  

James flinches, but nods anyway. He hadn’t realized, he guessed, the guilt Q had been carrying over this. 

“It’s isn’t your fault, Q. Wells was going to do whatever it took,” he says, and doesn’t even flinch when Q scoffs. 

“We both know that that is bullshit, James. Don’t patronize me,” Q says, and shoves the glass back on the tray, before turning away. 

“I didn’t- I’m _sorry_ Alex,” Bond says to the retreating figure.

There is no response as Q disappears around the corner towards the bedrooms. A moment passes and Luca turns into the room, glancing around and nodding.

“Flat is secure. Window locks haven’t been tampered with, and the sweep hasn’t turned up any bugs. So far it looks good,” Luca says, glancing around the room, and then spotting the bulldog on the mantle, he smiles and nods.

“Thanks,” Bond grunts out, moving back to re-pour his drink. He debates flat out asking Luca about his relationship with Q, but refrains, barely.

“I was running down leads from the club, by the by. I had tried to get Q to tell M earlier about Wells, but he didn’t want it known. He’s afraid of that bastard, the one time Q let his guard down and now the prick is taking out his friends,” Luca says, plopping down on the couch. He sets his boots up on the coffee table.

“I’d think you be out there trying to get even at the man that had slept with him,” Bond said, settling in a chair that he had had many years and was pleasantly worn in.

Luca chuckles, low and throaty. “Bond, Q and I are not lovers, never have been. He’s much too like my brother to ever cross that line,” Luca shoots him a look before his mouth twists into a delighted smirk. “Besides, I don’t think he’s ever quite gotten over the idea of you to start something serious with anyone.”

Bond tries to delay his reaction, but can’t stop his head from snapping to Luca’s face the moment the words are out of 006’s mouth.

“I think that was part of the reason Andrew got so close to him, you know. Smart, funny, attractive son of a bitch. Reminded Q of the one person he couldn’t have,” Luca keeps a steady gaze on Bond, no doubt enjoying the sharp way 007’s head comes up at that.

“Yeah, that’s right. He’s always had a bit of a thing for you. Saw it all the time, even if you were the densest sod in the room,” he says, leaning back against the deep brown leather of the sofa. “I think that is what hurts the most now, that for one minute, Q actually landed the perfect guy, someone he could lose himself in. Forget you even exist and the guy turns out to be on MI6’s most wanted list and enough of a creep to secretly want to put Q in a cage and throw away the bloody key.”

“Does this conversation have a point?” Bond asks, trying to ignore the way he wants to jump to his feet and race to find Q. His heart is beating a little faster, not that that is helping him trying to remain calm and impassive.

“Yeah, the point is this,” Luca shifts, sitting up and leaning forward, his boots dropping to the carpet. “You break his heart, and the only thing they’ll find to bury in your coffin is ashes.” His dark green eyes hold an edge to them that Bond knows without a doubt that Luca is one hundred percent serious. 

The only thing Bond can do back is nod. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember that you all don't hate me. Maybe go review the tags?
> 
> Also Bond gets his shower on.

It doesn’t take long for Alex to slip into the guest shower, Bond ignores Luca slipping inside with some spare clothes. He hears some quiet conversation when the shower shuts off, but no matter how he tries the door won’t allow him to make out what they are saying.

When Luca comes into the kitchen, where Bond had been holding up, he reports that Q was going to sleep and would probably be out for the rest of the morning if not most of the afternoon.

Bond nodded, and mentioned that he should be sleeping too. Caldwell gave a solemn nod and gestures to the stairs.

The bathroom was probably the only thing in the entire flat that Bond liked, if he had to pick. It was sleek with dark blue tiles and modern aesthetic. The feel of it wasn’t him but he did appreciate it. He was mostly fond of the water heater especially after a long mission, which he felt like he was still stuck in one.

As he turned on the shower, twisting the hot water handle until it stopped, Bond felt some of the tension from the past few days begin to ease a bit. He untucks his ruined shirt, undoing each button as he tried to ignore the stiffness that had settled into his bones.

Hissing at the first sight of black and blue, Bond leans closer to the mirror to get a better look of his wound as he drops the shirt to the floor. The gauze falls away with little tugging at his skin. He tosses it into the waste bin and gently touches the stitches. He gets a sharp pain in response and he frowns. It probably would have been better if he had stopped by Medical and gotten some meds.

Once he’s naked, James steps into the steaming shower. The instant the hot water hits his shoulder, pain flares all down his side and back. He puts his head against the cool tile and resists turning up the cold water.

The scotch helped a bit, but it takes several long minutes before he can even fathom moving. Finally, though, the pain dulls and 007 can move back and leans his face up into the falling water.

A chill that had settled over him does ease away until his comfortably warm and he fiddles with the temperature so that he’s no longer in danger of turning red like a steamed lobster.

He lathers up a cloth and wipes down his body, removing ash and grime. The water turns grey for a bit, until he feels like he’s thoroughly removed a layer of skin and he can turn his focus on enjoying the rest of the hot water.

The last of the anger starts to deflate as he finally starts to prune in the shower. He wants to stay in the shower until this whole thing is over. Part of him feels like he is playing head games with Silva all over again, like somehow that bastard is now out to get Q, as if the dark haired man didn't have enough scars over that encounter. 

Things start to settle into Bond's mind, mostly without him wanting them to. Things like, he knows Q blames himself for M's ultimate death, because of his role in Silva's escape. James knows that like himself, Q carries his responsibilities with a deadly seriousness. He takes the lives under his charge with the utmost respect and dedication, and now because of Q, they had all been put in danger.

Not just the underlings in Q-branch, who Q probably never would have thought they could be in extreme danger like that. And then to see himself as the cause that now so many were in the hospital or dead. It probably ate away at the younger man, to now have to bury friends he'd never think he'd have to. Even worse, to carry the blame for it all. 

Bond hates the Omnuri, and cannot stand the thought of Wells ever getting close to Alex again. It sets his teeth on edge and he rubs away some water from his face as he shakes the thoughts away.

His thoughts finally turn to what he had been hoping to push back until this whole thing was over. Q, no Alex…James still didn’t have a last name to go with the first one, had expressed, in some capacity, that he had feelings for one double-oh seven.

James wasn’t sure what to feel when the thought of Alex made his heart pick up and a smile cross his face. It wasn’t what he was used to. Normally any infatuation he had was temporary and based solely around the attractiveness of his partner.

Vesper had been lovely and challenged him. However, he thinks that he had always known that she was distant even up to the end. She had never truly dropped her guard around him. It didn’t hurt so much anymore, life had moved on and the thought of discovery life outside of MI6 disappeared.

Now though, James shivered at the thought. Not leaving MI6, but _staying_. Not running away from England, but _settling._ It all seemed so foreign, he never had a concept of it before, or even the vaguest idea of it.

Alex, Q, brought that out in him. He thought of their life together, a life where they could continue doing what they were good at and be good to each other. It was not in his nature to romanticize the thought of the future. He had always figured he would die in the field, for his country. The idea glory and honor were driving factors in his life.

This though, this was the idea of home and safety and something to fight coming back for.

Sighing, James scrubbed his face as he shook those thoughts away. It didn’t make any difference until Wells and the Omnuri were out of the picture. When that happened maybe he would be able to think about acting on the deep rumbling feelings that he tried to keep locked up.

Plus it would be nice to finally get Q up against his car at the end of the night, lean in close and watch as the younger man blushed and grinned.

Feeling his dick twitch in the thought, Bond looked down to see himself thicken up a bit. He shivers a bit, and adjusts the water to heat back up. Leaning back against the cool tile, he reaches down to give himself an experimental stroke. The resounding wave of pleasure makes him moan. How long had it been since he had taken care things solo?

His brain helpfully brings up his memory of pressing Q against the wall earlier and the feel of his hand as they had escaped the fire. He can feel his pulse pick up as he presses his thumb down over the head of his cock and trembles at the spike of pleasure. Puffing out air, James lets his mind take off. Bond takes himself firmly in his hand, stroking his cock as he pictures, without any real surprise, Q kneeling down on the shower floor. He tries to ignore the way the younger man's mouth would look slightly open and wet, as Q reached up to grip the base of Bond's dick. 

 “Yes,” he accidentally whispers, letting Q know whatever he wanted was okay. Slender fingers start a few steady pulls as a pink tongue licks at the foreskin then the head as his cock fills out completely.

Imaginary Alex moans around his cock and finally begins sucking him into the wet heat, hotter than the water falling around them. Bond moans, unable to tear his eyes away from the image painted in his mind. He speeds up his hand, the pleasure too good, too sharp as he thinks of Alex whimpering as he gets hard, stroking off in the rhythm of his head bobbing over James’ cock.

He is shocked to think of Q pulling off and gasping how he needs James to come, before licking the slit with the flat of his tongue. James traces his thumb over the path he imagines and shakes when his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave. He shakes and moans as he spurts his come all over the tile and floor.

His last gasp sends a weakened shockwave down his spine, and he settles back against the wall of the shower. The imagined Q also leans back on the wall, water soaking his hair, mouth red and glossy. Bond closes his eyes, pushes it all from his mind and takes a long breath. Part of him can't believe he's just done that like some simple pervert, but now that it's in his mind, he struggles to keep it out. 

The other part of his mind swears as it realizes that he has never come so hard, simply by thinking about someone. James wasn't sure what exactly it meant.

Shutting off the shower and after toweling off his body, James pulls on a pair of pajama trousers and a light shirt. He settles on his good shoulder and closes his eyes. It takes no effort to drift away from the world.

~ 

It hadn't been Bond's idea to pick out the flat; he actually didn't really like it. Besides the few odds and ends in the living room, and some of the cookery in the kitchen, very little actually felt personal in the flat. He didn't like excess furniture, especially not beyond the basics, and what little he had managed to keep over the years was sparse and beaten a bit. Mostly, MI6 furnished his flat, especially since they had been the ones to sell off most of the previous stuff.

What he especially didn't like was that on the upper floor the bedrooms were situated strangely he thought. The master sat at the very back of the flat, down the long hallway. The room was excessively large. It suited him well enough, even with the size being a bit daunting. He had tried to make it comfortable, but since he was rarely even there, it hadn't mattered much. 

The guest room on the other hand was barely big enough for a double sized bed and opened awkwardly onto the landing of the stairs. James had always thought that if a guest came out without paying attention they would end up falling down the steps. There was a smaller bathroom in the guest bedroom. It was nice, but besides once when he had first gotten the place, Bond never used either guest room or bathroom. Mostly because if he was holed up in the flat for an injury the thought of hiking up stairs usually put him off of sleeping in his room. He usually decked out on the sofa, until he was well enough to fake being healed and get out of the flat and back on another mission. 

The other major problem with Bond’s flat is that he has never really considered the strategic advantages or disadvantages of the guest bedroom. He’s always assumed that if anyone broke in to kill him, that he would be in the master bedroom. 

Which while, of course, _he_ was, but Q was not.

It is the sharp crack of something breaking and a dull thud that wakes Bond, and he pushes off the bed half way sitting up before he realizes he’s even awake. He doesn’t move for a moment, because he isn’t sure yet there is cause for alarm. He doesn’t need to get shot simply because Luca is a clumsy twat. 

Rain has entered a downpour outside, and it beats against the window, thunder rumbling and lightening flashing. The day has faded fast, and it’s already twilight. He isn’t fazed to think that he’s been asleep for the majority of the afternoon.

James stands, pulling out his gun from the nightstand and moves toward the door. He raises his gun, opening the door a bit and leaning out to look down the hall. He sees Q’s door wide open and in a flash of lightening, he sees the guest bedroom window smashed open. 

Before Bond can react, he hears the distinct _thhip_ of a gun with a silencer going off. He freezes, his heart beating so harshly that he fears for a moment he may actually have a heart attack.

Then Q’s cry snaps him out of it a second later. 

Down the steps, his feet don’t even feel like they hit the ground.

Suddenly bullets fly by his head, and he rolls easily through his open kitchen doorway. He crouches behind the island, moving to send shot after shot toward the five guys dragging and pulling on Q, who tries to fight back. His face is pale, the healing gashes seeming worse now than before and Bond watches as he stares in horror at... the couch? Bond shifts to look and then he sees the boot sticking out from the edge of the sofa. He recalls vividly seeing the same boot propped up on his coffee table not hours ago. Luca’s down.

Firing off warning shot he moves along the far side of the island, bullets rip through the bowl of fruit on the island, ceramic mugs crack and bits fly everywhere. Some hit the counter to Bond’s right, destroying his spice rack and microwave. Sparks shower out over him, but he ignores it all. 

With a glance he follows the two remaining shooters, trying to hold Bond off while the other two struggle with Q, who is fighting, kicking and shouting trying to get away. It doesn’t seem to phase the two men much, as one simply moves as Q jabs, not really landing anything. These men are still under orders to do as little harm possible. 

One shooter pauses to reload, he is the closer shooter. So, Bond swivels his body, bringing his gun up; letting off three shots, two hit the reloading man in the chest and he collapses. The remaining shooter fires back, and Bond has to duck, but can move past the wet bar on his side table and behind the couch. Glass cuts his feet but doesn’t let the pain slow him down.

When he looks up again, he can tell instantly that Q has lost his fight, the kidnappers, having grown tired of dodging, hit back, and Q isn’t as good as moving out of the way as they were. Two hard blows to his face, and one to the throat and the Quartermaster falls back into one capture's arms. They start pulling him out of view, but Bond has to duck to avoid being shot. 

“Jean! Now!” Bond hears his front door being slammed open, and lets off his remaining five shots. 

“James!” Q screams, voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable, until it cuts off sharply. The shooter remains for only few more seconds, several more shots going into the couch, stuffing spitting out over the leather. 

Looking over again, seeing the coast is clear, Bond is up and over the couch, taking up Luca’s gun from the floor, seeing for a brief moment, that Luca is still breathing but a large blood stain on his abdomen speaks to how little time he probably has left. It’s a horrible choice, but Bond knows what Luca would expect from him, so he raises the gun and sprints for the door. 

He jumps down flight of steps to his door, landing and running through the door, It’s reckless, he doesn’t know if one remained to finish him off, but he can’t seem to stop as he leaps the few remaining steps and raises his gun searching the street. The rain is, if possible, coming down even harder and Bond feels almost immediately drenched when he gets his bearings.  

To his right is a black car speeding off, tires squealing as they break to make the hard right to the next street, but then more squealing tires and he glances left to see another black car racing off. He takes two steps to his left before glancing back to the right, watching as the car makes the turn, before accelerating out of sight. 

“Damn it!” he curses and turns running back toward his flat, damned if he is going to lose another agent if he can stop it. 

James Bond tries to not think that he’s just seen the MI6 Quartermaster for the last time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Crossed posted to FF.net
> 
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